


Winter Wonderland

by Bakerstreethound



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakerstreethound/pseuds/Bakerstreethound
Summary: Despite not understanding why decorating 221B for Christmas is entertaining for you and John, Sherlock attempts to join in on the festivities.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Reader, Sherlock Holmes/You
Kudos: 5





	Winter Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> This work is loosely based on a Christmas request and I got to a place where I was happy how it turned out. Sherlock has taken a while recently to get back into my head to help me write. Much love and thanks to Portals_To_A_New_World for everything she does.

Your eyes snapped open, pulling the blanket tighter around you. The random accumulation of dreams pulled your heavy eyelids shut, yet made your chest lurch at the same time. In a matter of moments, your eyes snapped open. You made your way to the windows in your room pulling back the curtains where you were met with the most blinding flash of white.

Fresh blankets of snow coated every building, people pulling up their coats dusted with snowflakes. All seemed joyous in the world despite the grey sky above you. You were glad something out of the horrendous year pulled through. 

“Why are you up?” a low voice grumbled from the doorframe. You ignored it, staring longingly at the landscape before you. It was truly a magnificent day. 

“Come back to bed with me,” the voice mumbled, practically purring in your ear. “It’s just snow and accumulation of…”

“Don’t go spitting off the science of the weather on me now, Sherlock. Let me bloody enjoy it as I please.”

He grumbled. “Fine, I’ll be warm and toasty in here without you, then.” He harrumphed, flinging himself unceremoniously into the knotted sheets. 

“Drama queen,” you murmured. “Since we are snowed in, I think it would be the perfect time to decorate this dusty old flat of yours.”

“Ours,” he hissed.

“Right, ours,” you accentuated, proceeding to slip on a pair of jeans. “ Must’ve slipped my mind.” You slipped on a loose comfortable shirt and then a jacket for good measure. 

Damn the cold.  
“Ah, good morning, Holmes.”

You smiled, chuckling as John placed a cup of water in your hand.

“That’s my husband, not me Watson.”

“I know, but it’s more fun.” 

You tossed him a knowing grin, rolling your eyes before letting the cool drink wash down your throat. 

"Big plans for today?"

"Thought I'd give this shabby place a makeover for the holidays."

"That's exactly what Sherlock needs," John beamed. "It'll be priceless."

******

Before long, after two hours plus the boys out for a case, you managed to string up some lights and put up a small tree in a corner close to the window of the flat. To your amusement, Mrs. Hudson brought up some stockings, knitted by her from the looks of it, and hung them by the fireplace. 

“I don’t understand. Why would you…?”

“Jesus, Sherlock. It’s what we ordinary folk do! Christmas. Tidings of comfort and joy. God rest ye bloody gentlemen! You could at least lighten up and have some fun!” 

John’s voice bellowed from down the hall but grew increasingly louder as the duo made it up the stairs. 

“I’ll be back, then.” Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes in amusement, making her way to the kitchen to put the kettle on. 

You chuckled, turning your attention to the box of ornaments in front of you. “Alright. I’ll control the madhouse.”

The door opened right as John yelled, voiced laced with irritation, yet failing to hide his utter amusement at whatever situation he and his detective were part of. 

“Sherlock Holmes, don’t you dare shoot the bloody wall again. Enough damage has been inflicted!”

“The only damage that will be done is having her pinned against it,” An all too familiar rumble caressed your ear, tremors following in its wake, dancing across your spine as your husband walked in.

“Can we please discuss your intimate lives at another time, perhaps? Mrs. Hudson has the tea ready and that’s not an appropriate topic of conversation, let alone for Christmas decorating…” he glanced around, “or at least what’s left of it.”

John huffed, clearing his chair of string lights before getting comfortable. 

You chuckled in amusement turning your attention from the ornament box to peck Sherlock’s cheek. 

“We should do as John suggests, Sherl. You can have me all to yourself later and all…” you trailed off, nipping his neck, earning a bewildered eye roll. “What? You enjoyed that. Poor boy. There’s no use denying it.” 

“If all these...people weren't around, I’d do more than just pin you against that damn wall. For now, let’s finish up needlessly wasting money on your so-called ‘decorating.’”

He tossed aside your sorry attempt of a paper snowflake onto the table, eyes flickering in slight amusement. 

“You’re such an ass. At least pretend like you’re enjoying it. Plus, it’s not just all about decorating. I get to spend time with the people I love most dearly.” 

You moved away from Sherlock who had now made way to sitting in his usual chair, staring at the string of lights and stockings on the mantel. John took it upon himself to kindle a fire and soon enough, the flat was full of warmth, Mrs. Hudson’s occasional tittering adding some information about snippets of murders she’d recently read about in the papers. 

You made way by adding the finishing touches of the ornaments on the tree, enjoying John’s pleasantries about the case they’d finished solving, which involved some sort of revenge story. 

“Typical!” Sherlock butted in, course to no surprise it was the butcher’s wife who ended up being convicted and sent to jail, courtesy of Detective Inspector Lestrade. 

“But why does this make people happy?”

“Some people, Sherlock like to decorate their homes with holly, not with frozen kidneys and preserved intestines strung from hallways.” 

“That...John, I think we get the picture, no need to pressure the poor Detective.”

“You coddle him too much.”

“Because he’s my husband, Watson, and I can do whatever I like, most of the time and within reason. Plus,” you traced a finger down Sherlock’s face, stopping right between the seam of his lips, “he loves it, and don’t let him fool you to think otherwise.” 

“Look at all of you, it seems like maybe Sherlock will enjoy the holidays at least a little bit this year!” Mrs. Hudson smiled as she set a teacup on the side table next to you.

You offered her a soft smile in return, pecking at your husband's cheek before resting your head on his shoulder grateful that you would spend the holidays with those you cherished the most.


End file.
